


That Distant Shore

by mewkura



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Flower Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Secret Crush, Songfic, Symbolism, hanakotoba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewkura/pseuds/mewkura
Summary: Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal | Foilshipping | Post-Canon | Songfic | Vector plants flowers and falls in love.
Relationships: Tsukumo Yuuma/Vector
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	That Distant Shore

**Author's Note:**

> I aged up the characters a bit. They’re in high school now and have thus matured some and changed. I’d like to think Vector mellows down and Yuuma smartens up a bit by the time they’re older. Vector lives with Yuuma’s family because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, but because of that, they’re a lot closer now and have become good friends. Yuuma drops the honorific, but Vector still prefers to call him Yuuma-kun.
> 
> Fic based off this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBz6O4UewtI

_It all became so lovely  
Those bluest skies above me  
Those funny feelings I had never felt before I met you_

Yuuma was undoubtedly special. Yes, he liked his tofu soaked in butter and sometimes he didn’t bathe as often as he should, but he was also the only person in the world who would unconditionally care for anyone he met, even if they tried to kill him. Multiple times.

“Vector, look,” Yuuma flashes his brilliant smile and holds his outstretched fists to Vector’s chest, “Flowers! Aren’t they pretty?”

In his hands, camellias of red, white, and blushing pink. Vector assumes Yuuma hasn’t studied hanakotoba.

“They’re beautiful,” Vector takes them from Yuuma’s hands and into his own. “Perhaps Earth life isn’t so bad.”

Yuuma giggles and steals a pink camellia. Vector freezes and holds his breath as Yuuma gingerly pushes back Vector’s hair and tucks the flower behind his ear. Vector’s heart flips and his skin warms.

Yuuma leans back to examine his work. He playfully smirks and echoes Vector’s words, “Beautiful. Perhaps _you_ aren’t so bad.”

Vector stares dumbly and holds camellias with sweaty hands.

_I thought I'd stay a while  
I tried to learn to smile  
So many colors I had never even known_

Vector would have never guessed in his thousand years of life that he, of all the revived Barians, would take up the hobby of gardening. Yuuma’s grandmother suggested the hobby offhandedly when she jokingly complained that she was getting too old to take care of the garden. Vector, with nothing better to do, decided to take her up on the offer. Soon, the back of the Tsukumo household became home to countless native and exotic flowers.

“Yuuma-kun, for you,” Vector reveals a freshly cut bouquet of wedding white gardenias.

Yuuma looks up at Vector, wide-eyed and unknowing. He stands up and tenderly takes the bouquet from Vector’s hands.

“Me, really? I… thank you. I appreciate it a lot. They’re really pretty.” Yuuma looks back at Vector with adoration in his eyes and it knocks the air out of Vector’s lungs.

“It’s… it’s no problem. I thought you’d like them. It’s a… a thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

And the fond gaze Yuuma gives Vector is worth all the stars in the universe. Vector briefly wonders how he’ll ever make a bouquet grand enough to thank Yuuma for it.

“Oh Vector…” Yuuma tenderly speaks his name and Vector melts, “There’s no need to thank me for anything.”

Vector can’t help the soft scoff that escapes his lips. “Yeah, like letting me stay at your house free of charge isn’t anything.”

Yuuma grabs Vector’s hand and squeezes. “My price is your company.”

Yuuma stares into him like he is a beetle caught in amber, and under his gaze, Vector can’t help but burn.

_Maybe I’ll find myself sitting on that distant shore  
Maybe I'm not alone_

One day, Yuuma asked Vector what his favorite flower was and Vector could not answer. To his own surprise, Vector loved all his flowers equally and treated them like he would his children. He whispers an apology whenever he has to cut one to give to Yuuma, gingerly patting the soil at its feet beforehand. Every time he arranges and gifts Yuuma a handmade bouquet, Vector promises to make the next one better—dreams to one day match Yuuma’s unsung beauty. Vector smiles, because he knows it is an impossible dream. But he’s allowed to dream.

“I’m so sorry I took so many, Vector,” Yuuma stammers, “I-I wanted to make it the best I could, but I got too carried away.”

Vector stares in shock at the messy, multi-colored bouquet of daffodils, pansies, and primroses, with a single red camellia in the center.

“…why?” is all he can whisper out. He sounds vulnerable and he hates it.

Yuuma’s face turns pink. “Well, you always give me flowers. And I don’t really give you any nice gifts back, so I wanted to return the favor. I’m not as artistic or as skilled with flowers as you are, but I know they make you really happy. So I wanted to do this for you. But…” Yuuma’s face drops. “I can see that it’s not that good.”

“It’s perfect,” Vector all but shouts abruptly. “It’s perfect.”

“Is it really…” Yuuma’s voice trails off and Vector’s heart sinks. Yuuma has never sounded weaker. Not since…

“Yes,” the least Vector could do was tell the truth, “It’s perfect because it’s from you.”

“Oh Vector,” Yuuma sighs weakly, “You don’t always have to be so kind.”

And Vector can’t help but laugh.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me! I…” Yuuma frowns, but realizes that Vector can’t stop laughing, “Vector, what’s wrong?”

_Everything, Yuuma, everything._

But Vector settles for blinking away his tears and taking Yuuma’s imperfectly beautiful bouquet from his hands and inhaling the incomprehensible mix of aromas that do not play nice together.

“Thank you, Yuuma-kun. They’re beautiful.” Vector takes a white pansy and pushes Yuuma’s hair aside, tucking the flower behind his ear. Orange light from the sunset rests gracefully upon Yuuma’s face and he is an angel.

Vector has to remind himself to breathe.

_Then I see the colors fading, gentleness of light escaping  
Shadows of my fear invading  
Have I seen this all before_

Vector keeps Yuuma’s bouquet in an ornate glass vase in his room, providing water and sunlight from the window. Flowers, once cut, live temporary lives, so Vector makes the most out of their short time together. He mumbles ‘morning’ to them when he wakes and thinks of Yuuma when greeted with the sight of their plush petals. He softly kisses his forefingers and presses them to the leaf of the red camellia, imagining that it’s Yuuma. Vector knows he’s pathetic, but doesn’t think about it. Yuuma’s flowers die one by one.

When the last withered petal of the camellia unceremoniously falls off its stem, Vector breaks.

He curls in on himself and heaves, unable to breathe. He curses and bites his tongue and bleeds. He cries and his lips are wet with tears and spit and blood. He’s burning with pain and filled with nothing. He is nothing.

He is, he was, never worth the flowers, the smiles, the fond looks, the kindness, the pity love.

He is orange lilies. He is the vase of white chrysanthemums on a live student’s desk. He is Vector. And he hates flowers.

Vector cannot hear anything but the blood in his ears. Vector cannot see anything but the tears in his eyes. Vector cannot move or speak or breathe. He is Vector. And Vector is nothing.

_I know that there is something residing  
A terror deep inside me  
I couldn’t understand how you could be so bold_

There is nothing more terrifying than utter darkness, Vector knows. There is nothing that produces unadulterated fear more than the void beckoning one’s bodiless soul further and further into spiraling darkness. When Don Thousand swallowed Vector, it was all that he could feel. His existence unregistered and insignificant in a black pit with no beginning or end. Every night, Vector is afraid of closing his eyes and letting sleep consume him, knowing that a giant red eye and ever darkness waits patiently for him.

“…tor! V… ect… Vector!”

Vector wakes with a jolt. Eyes darting to observe his surroundings, he sees that he is lying in bed. And Yuuma is by his bed, crimson eyes soaked in concern.

“Thank goodness you woke up! I was really scared there. You kept squirming around in your sleep. Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?”

Vector does not answer, but turns his head away from Yuuma. Vector cannot bear to look at him when he is so ashamed of himself. He refuses. But all is forgotten when Yuuma caresses his thumb against Vector’s temple.

“What was your dream about?” Yuuma asks again, softer this time.

Vector closes his eyes and relaxes, calming under Yuuma’s touch. Yuuma rests a gentle palm over Vector’s shaking hand and Vector freezes and melts all at once. He can’t help, but give in.

“Chaos.”

Yuuma’s face contorts. His lips tighten and his eyebrows frown. In his eyes lie pity and sorrow and frustration.

“Chaos?”

Vector nods.

“Was… was it…?” Yuuma looks at his hands, unable to finish his sentence.

“Yeah. It was.” Vector knows his question.

Silence falls comfortably on them and Vector decides that he likes a quiet Yuuma.

A few minutes that felt like years passed before either of them spoke.

Yuuma broke the silence.

“I see that my flowers are all gone.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Vector couldn’t let Yuuma know that was the reason for the nightmare, so he held his voice as steady as he could.

“They were nice though. I liked them. Thank you.”

Yuuma stopped rubbing Vector’s knuckles—When did he start?—and broke out into a dazzling smile.

“I’m so glad you liked them. I know I told you before, but I picked them because they reminded me of you. Especially the red one. It’s so pretty.”

Yuuma’s eyes rest on Vector’s face at the word ‘pretty’ and Vector almost cries.

If his heart was beating uncontrollably before, he may as well have flat lined right there and then.

_Maybe I’ll find myself smiling on that distant shore  
Maybe I'm not alone_

Vector pats at the soil with his trowel, tucking a newly planted freesia into bed. He steps back to gaze at his work. The flowers almost spill beyond the rocky borders of the garden. Vector supposes that he should get trim some down. But which ones? This was the toughest part of maintaining a flower garden, Vector concluded.

“Can I join you?”

Vector jumps at Yuuma’s voice.

“Sure. I was just finishing up anyway,” he replies, forcing his heart rate to return to normal.

“I noticed.” Yuuma hands Vector a glass of juice. “I wanted to stay out here with you a bit longer though.”

Vector took the glass and nodded, trying to hide a heavy gulp.

They sit on the wooden patio, quietly sipping their juice and enjoying the gentle breeze.

Vector looks over at Yuuma playing with his straw. A hand grabs his heart and gives it a tender squeeze. What does it? What squeezes his heart? Vector deducts that it’s Yuuma’s soft profile, the red of his hair standing out in the sea of green, the life in his eyes rivaling that of the flowers’, or the tan of his complexion in the afternoon sun—but there’s something else. Something greater.

Long ago, Vector would’ve called the stabbing in his heart envy or annoyance or bloodlust (frankly, some of that was still there, albeit in nonlethal amounts). However, he didn’t know what to name this new feeling.

That was a lie. He knows exactly what this feeling is.

Fear.

That was ~~sort of~~ a lie too.

It was—

“Hey, Vector.” Yuuma’s voice breaks the air and Vector pretends he wasn’t staring. “Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

“You already are, aren’t you?” Vector pulls a sly smile.

Yuuma pretends to punch Vector’s arm.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?”

They fall into laughter, easily, too easily, like they weren’t at each other’s throats once upon a nightmare.

“Anyway, Vector,” Yuuma composes himself, still high on blissful laughter. “You have to promise that you’ll take this question seriously.”

Vector nods, hiding his anxiousness, head spinning with all the possible questions Yuuma could ask him.

What are you going to do with your life? When are you going to leave the past behind you? Are you going to ever stop being such a despicable person? When will you come back to school? Will you stop hoarding my grandmother’s garden? Why do you like flowers so much? Isn’t that weird for someone like you? Are you finally gonna leave me alone one day? When will you move out? When will you leave? When will you leave? When will you leave? _When will you leave me?_

“Will you go to a café with me this Saturday?”

What?

“Um, did you… hear me?” Yuuma’s hand hesitates over Vector’s frozen one.

Vector processes the question again.

“What?” He says, this time aloud. He can barely hear his own voice. And he hates how much it shakes. His knuckles whiten around his glass, almost shattering.

Vector buries holes into Yuuma’s eyes, searching, desperately, for the punchline. There has to be one. The hand embracing his heart is now choking. And he needs it to stop. So he searches for the joke between Yuuma’s words. If he doesn’t—he can’t even think about what will happen if it doesn’t stop.

Yuuma must’ve mistaken the face of Vector’s disbelief for rejection because he shuffles away from Vector and his breath hitches.

“Oh, I’m. I thought that—no I,” Yuuma panics, “Forget what I said. I thought—oh no, oh god. I’m sorry. I thought that you, maybe—no, this is—I’m sorry.”

And when Yuuma moves to stand up, the hand lets go of Vector’s heart and it plummets. Vector throws his shock and disbelief out the window and tackles him, wrapping Yuuma within his arms with all his strength. Vector fears the implications behind Yuuma’s question, but he fears losing him more. If all these months worth of idle chat and secret messages went down the drain, if he could never see Yuuma’s smile, open and pure, aimed at him again, Vector may just break over and over and never come back.

“Vector…” Yuuma’s voice cracks and so does Vector.

“I don’t deserve you,” is the first confession Vector thinks to make. The rest comes pouring out soon after.

“You’re kind and loyal and generous and too forgiving of a person. You give everyone a chance. And I’m… just someone filled with pain and hurt. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever met. Even now, I’m just a pain for you and your family to take care of. Yet, you…you!”

Vector pulls Yuuma closer. He feels Yuuma’s pulse under his own, but Yuuma doesn’t move, doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything.

“You still look at me with those eyes. Like I’m special somehow. Like I deserve your kindness. And I don’t. I know I don’t. But when I feel your eyes on me, it’s like that doesn’t matter. I’m just happy. That’s all I can think, I’m happy that Yuuma-kun can look at me and smile.”

Vector’s vision is almost obsolete as tears camp in his sockets. He blinks and they rush out, swimming down his and Yuuma’s arm. When the first tear lands on Yuuma’s skin, Yuuma inhales and slowly brings a hand to Vector’s back, reminding him that he is there.

“But as much as it makes me happy, I can’t take it. I can’t stand how happy you make me because I know I don’t deserve it. Yuuma-kun is nice to me just because he is Yuuma-kun. That’s just who you are. Kind, wonderful, beautiful eyed Yuuma-kun.”

Vector loosens his grip, but still hides his face behind Yuuma. His legs shake a little from sitting like this for so long, but also because he’s nervous as hell. That was obviously a confession. And he didn’t know how Yuuma would take it.

“Vector.” Yuuma’s chest vibrates against his.

Vector shuts his eyes and braces for rejection.

“You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re passionate.” Yuuma brings his other hand to the back of Vector’s head and leans into him. “And you are kind. You always think of me when you’re making such lovely bouquets. You’re loyal. You help out my sister and grandma around the house, even when I don’t. You’re generous enough to cut up your beautiful flowers to give to me.”

Vector stares into nothing. What is this? He feels light-headed. What _is_ this?

“But to be honest, yeah, you’re not very forgiving,” Yuuma laughs. “Because you still haven’t forgiven yourself for your past. I’m aware of our history. I know what you’re scared of, but you’ve changed, Vector. You are an amazing person and an amazing friend. You’re not a burden to me or anyone. But just so you know, I would still like you if you stayed a jerk.”

Vector is brought back to reality when he is pushed back and meets face to face with Yuuma, who glows like he’s the moon incarnate. His eyes are blurry, but they’ve never been more filled with affection and hope.

Yuuma takes Vector’s hands into his own and Vector’s face burns under his unyielding gaze.

“You know why?”

Vector opts to shake his head, certain his voice will fail him.

“Because you make me happy. Your presence calms me down, but it also makes my heart race every time I see you. Isn’t that just crazy? That’s why I admire your skills in the garden. These hands of yours…” Yuuma pulls Vector’s hands to his chin, looking up at Vector just behind their hands.

“These gentle, hardworking, brilliant hands that know their way with flowers—they remind me of you. Protective and rough-looking, but loving and kind. That’s who _you_ are, Vector.”

The hand comes back to taunt Vector, but instead of squeezing, this time it cradles Vector’s heart in a warm embrace. It’s too warm. It burns. But this time Vector can deal with it. As long as it’s Yuuma’s hand.

“Vector…?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Huh?”

“To the café on Saturday. I’ll go with you, Yuuma-kun,” Vector clarifies.

Yuuma breaks into the biggest smile Vector has ever seen and gives him the tightest hug he can give. Vector’s heart almost bursts and bleeds onto the patio. He buries his face into Yuuma’s neck, hiding within him, as if expecting Yuuma to take it all back and leave him with nothing.

“I like you,” Yuuma says, “I really like you.”

Vector’s voice barely comes out as a whisper.

“I like you too…”

Vector decided that he was going to get rid of the white camellias.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a lot shorter and just a simple songfic. Then, I got carried away with the flower symbolism and emotional angst. I considered writing the meanings of the flowers in the end notes, but decided against it since I didn't want it to be too obvious. Also, so that we could all be in Yuuma's shoes.
> 
> Proofreading this, I realized that the characters, mostly Vector, were OOC. Although I meant for this to be an aged up fic where the characters have matured, my actual headcanons for Yuuma and Vector's future personalities were not really reflected in this. To be honest, this entire fic is just me being self-indulgent and projecting onto Vector, so-- I'm sorry Vector and readers!
> 
> However, I really enjoyed writing this. This is the longest one-shot I've written and I'm mostly satisfied with how it turned out. Please comment anything you liked/would like critic about this fic. Thank you for reading!!


End file.
